


Love = hunger

by hypnodisc



Category: Original Work
Genre: Cannibalism, M/M, Murder Husbands, Murder Kink, Not In Chronological Order, Stalking, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 18:13:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5794645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypnodisc/pseuds/hypnodisc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love letters from a cannibal</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bonelust

New York, Oct. 2015

My Darling, 

From the minute I first saw you, I wanted to eat your bones. Grind them into fine powder and hold it under my tongue, frantically rub it into my gums until they bleed, until your taste is fixed in my mouth forever. The meat of you, that’s fine, too. But it’s the delicate scaffolding of bones that first drew me in. To think that I could turn you inside out, skin you like a rabbit to reveal the intimate pattern that is hidden below plain, wrinkled pink. Beneath, you’re gorgeous. It’s living design; the blood oozes from hidden places. Muscle, flesh and organs, but best of all, your bones. Sculpted white, I want to smash them, and eat them in huge bites. Sharp splinters stick in my throat, block it. After you, nothing else can enter. I will starve to death with your bones boiling in my stomach.

If I could have just one, I think I might be satisfied. You could bring me one in offering. Holding a severed arm in your shaking hand. Bowing, maybe, so I can see the links of your spine. Or perhaps you could spare a rib or two. One from each side to keep things even. One each. I think that if we shared a meal together, you could learn to see what I see.

I don’t think that I could bring myself to drink from your skull. It’s a fate that seems too ordinary for something so alive; just sitting on the draining board, waiting to be filled and emptied, filled and emptied. I think I’d like to wear it. Cover my ears with it to see if I can hear your thoughts. Sleep in it to see if I can dream your dreams. But your jaw I couldn’t leave intact. I’d saw it up, and swallow it down, piece by piece, with the teeth still attached. 

I’ve seen many bones in my life – ancient and crumbling, still red and bloody, even a few that have been blackened and burnt. But I think, my darling, that yours would be the loveliest of all. Won’t you write to me?

Yours forever,

R.


	2. Sympathy for the devil

New York, Nov. 2015

My darling,

I couldn’t keep myself from writing to you once again. I can’t stop dreaming of you, even when I’m awake. I hardly recognise myself. It’s your face, now, that I see in the mirror. It’s your voice inside my head. You are consuming me in spirit just as I desire to consume you in flesh. So surely, then, you must sympathise.

Have you ever loved someone, so suddenly, so urgently, so terribly, that you just want to destroy them? Sink your teeth into them, smash them into pieces, then wrap yourself in their cooling corpse and sleep until you dream of them? This burning, horrible love is the love I feel for you.  
I would never hurt you, but I would hunt you down and grind our bones together until the marrows mix. The world outside is a clean and empty void that I want to flood with the blood that pours richly from your screaming mouth. Until it drowns and I drown, and the world ends, and we both die struggling.

I love you so strongly that sometimes I am afraid to open my mouth to speak, because the only word that I can say is your name. Again and again. Cry it. Like a child calling for its mother. I could be sure that you would always answer if you were inside me.

I would sometimes imagine your ghost inside my mouth, growing like a weed from my stomach, filling my skull until it bursts, until black, thorny branches creep out of my eye sockets, crown my head and pin my tongue. 

You will never escape from me.

R.


End file.
